


As Faithful As The Sea

by Croanoke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Death, Destiel - Freeform, Loss, M/M, Relief, Romance, happy endings, one shots, revival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croanoke/pseuds/Croanoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Destiel one shots. Also posted on Fanfiction, under a different name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tuesday

Cas died Tuesday.

                It was a beautiful, late spring day. The flowers were bright and giving off strong scents, bees buzzing from one to the next. Cas liked the bees…

                Dean didn’t understand. Shouldn’t the day have been ugly, sad? Rain and thunder, mud and golf ball sized hail. Shouldn’t the world be mourning the loss of the angel who regretted? The angel who hurt and was hurt? The angel, the man, who loved? 

                Instead the day was filled with laughter, vibrant colors and an irrational happiness in the air. It almost hurt to live that day.

                It took so much for Dean to hold it together; he knew Castiel wasn’t coming back again. There would be no more resurrections for Cas because a guy like Dean could only get so many favors, so many stitched up hearts.

                Did Cas deserve to die, to be stabbed by his own weapon? No, of course not. Castiel made many mistakes, so many mistakes. But everyone made them, everyone lost themselves for awhile. Of course not everyone became _God_ for awhile, but everyone has surely done something they regret.

                This little fact made it all so much worse for Dean. Cas did bad things, but people have done worse than he, even if that’s hard to believe. Why couldn’t someone else take Cas’s place? Why couldn’t Cas just live through the rest of Dean’s life, then there wouldn’t be hurt. Dean wouldn’t have to suffer like this.

                But Cas pulling through isn’t part of the ultimate plan, the plan that Dean had screwed up royally. Life is a bitch that just keeps making swings at you.

                Today, a week later, is Cas’s funeral. It’s small, only Dean and Sam, who had gone to give Dean a moment, to lay Cas to rest. He’s been buried in an empty, grassy, butterfly infested field. A simple wooden cross marks the grave, nothing but the word _Castiel_ etched into the wood.

                Cas didn’t get the traditional hunter burial, even if it was what he deserved. Maybe a part of Dean still hoped Cas would live, be able to fly out of the dirt. The part was small, but strong. It was what kept Dean going on because there was nothing else left to do that for him.

                To Dean, this was worse than losing Cas to Purgatory, to the Leviathans. It was because Dean watched Cas die, felt the last breath leave his lungs, watched his oceanic eyes die, just a little. It was so much more personal than having a Levi say he was gone or watching him let go in Purgatory.

                Dean knelt down by the cross, wanting to  say something, anything, to the man he loved so much. He wanted closure, but no amount of words would give him that. No amount of pain or suffering could get Dean to move on, to forget. This was the man Dean loved after all, what could anything in the world possibly do to ease his pain?

                “This feels so wrong for me to say because you’re not here, you know? You should be alive to hear this but saying it now is better than never, am I right?” Dean asked, a sad smile making way onto his features. Little tears slid down his face and into the corners of his mouth, but he wiped them away.

                “I love you, Cas. I’ll see you again, I promise.” Dean said after a moment in which he gathered his bearing.

                He got up from the ground, not bothering to wipe his hands on his jeans. He stared down at the grave for a moment before turning around, ready to leave this damn town.

                What he expected to see when he got up was the Impala parked not too far away, Sam in the driver’s seat. He expected to hear music emanating from the car, something to wipe away the silence. But all he heard was the silence and what he saw was Sam in the Impala and Cas, standing not too far away from Dean.

                He looked healthy, the poster child for cleanliness. His face was set in a smile, small but filled more emotion that anything else. His hands were held behind his back, his eyes shining with the light they lost.

                “Hello, Dean.” He said at last.

               

               


	2. The Great Beyond

                Castiel and Sam stood in a barren field; one like the one Dean had been originally put to rest all that time ago. What lay under the dirt was the burnt remains of what was once Dean Winchester, who’d been slain on the job. His grave was marked by a cross, bearing no sign of the person who lay below it. No names, no dates.

                Both Castiel and Sam knew this day would come, where they’d have to say goodbye but neither of them expected it to be this soon. Neither of them realized Dean could so easily been taken, either.

                They stood by his grave for awhile, saying goodbye until the sun began to set and wash this side of the world in darkness. Castiel asked Sam for a few moments alone before he returned to the Impala, which Sam let him have.

                “So, I’m dead now?” Dean asked from beside Castiel. He had Tessa next to him, seemingly relieved that she got to finally reap Dean Winchester. It had been a goal of hers.

                “Yes, you are. You should leave now before it’s too late.” Castiel said, waiting patiently for Dean to go.

He could have brought Dean back but sometimes dying and coming back is just too much for one soul to carry. Besides, Dean asked Castiel to leave him dead. He still lived, or not, by his philosophy, ‘What is dead should stay dead’.

                “I know, I already told Tess here that I’d come without a fight but I wanted to see you first.” Dean replied. Tessa, sensing he wanted time alone with Castiel, stepped away from the two and gave them a moment.

                “What is there to say? I’ve already said my goodbyes to you.” Castiel said. Seeing Dean like this was becoming a burden on him. If he couldn’t see Dean as a living, breathing man why should he see him like this?

                “I wanted to ask if you’d be my escort to Heaven. That way me and Tessa are both happy. She reaps me, we both know she’s been aching to get her hands on me, and I get to spend an afterlife with you and everyone I’ve lost.” Dean replies as he stares down at his grave.

                “Before I begin to answer what you’ve just asked of me, how are you here? We’ve salted and burned your bones, Dean.” Castiel asks, confused. His brow crease as he thinks of any of the things Dean left behind that his soul could be attached to.

                “My baby, that’s what I’m attached to.” Dean answers, smiling. That car was home to Dean, it held some of the most precious memories he’s ever had. Of course it’d be the thing to carry on his soul.

                “Thank you for clarifying that. So you want me to go to heaven with you?” Castiel asked, the offer sounding seemingly pleasant to him.

                “Yeah, you and me reliving my greatest hits or sitting in the Roadhouse with Ash. Drinking with Bobby, talking to Jo and Ellen again. We can spend eternity doing that instead of me waiting an eternity for you.” Dean replied, growing a little irritated at the sappy, hallmark card, moment.

                “Heaven seems like a terrible idea for me, Dean. The angels still aren’t happy with me, I don’t know what they would do or what I would try to do once I returned.” Castiel says. For the first in a very long time, he was truly afraid.

                “We got Ash on our side, Cas. He can travel all through heaven, he can keep angels away. He’ll keep you away from those dick bags. Besides, couldn’t you just burn those weird ass markings into your own ribcage?” Dean asked.

                “N- I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before, I don’t think anyone has.” Castiel replied. He was now a little curious.

What if he could burn Enochian symbols into himself? Was it actually possible to do so? It may not be, but for Dean Castiel would do anything. Dean’s needs always went before his own.

“Then try. We can leave, Sam has Amelia and that dog, he’ll be better off without us. He can move on, leave our life like he’s been trying do all along.” Dean pointed out, knowing he was getting closer and closer to Castiel giving in.

“I suppose it’s worth a try. Even if engraving the markings into my own person doesn’t work, I’ll still stay with you. But I think it wise to save the marking till we believe failure is imminent.” Castiel decides.

“Come on Tess, I’ve reeled him in!” Dean called to the reaper, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation, patiently waiting for the time to leave.

“Let me say a proper goodbye to Sam first. I think it may be best if I check in on him every now and then.” Castiel informed Dean as he made his way to the Impala.

He tapped on the driver side window once, grabbing Sam’s attention.

“Hey, Cas. You ready to go?” Sam asked as he started up the car.

“No, there are some…urgent matters in heaven I must attend to. You will not see me for awhile, but I will come back. You should move on, Sam. Not from me or Dean but from this life. Live it the way you’ve always wanted to.” Castiel said, turning away from the blank minded Sam.

“That’s it? What’s going on?” Sam asked, fumbling with the door’s lock.

“I’m sorry, Sam. It’s best for me not to explain. I’m still trying to understand it myself.” Cas explained.

Sam looked torn. Castiel was practically his brother, the only family he had left, and he was leaving now too?

“I’ll return periodically to check on you. I’ll be back and maybe then will I explain why I must leave.”

“Damn it, Cas. Fine, but if you see Dean up there tell him I said hi, will you?” Sam asked, who was more torn up about the situation that he said or showed. He was holding himself together, but just barely.

“I will. See you soon, Sam.” Castiel said before returning to Dean and Tessa.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll see you soon.” Sam replied. He got back into the Impala, at a loss for words. He was angry, hurt, but deep down he knew the reason Castiel was leaving. If Sam had the chance, he’d go chasing after someone he loved into the great beyond too. It was like the Winchester family curse.

Sam pulled away, the tires kicking up dust as he raced down the road. With that insignificant gesture you could nearly feel all the anger and pain Sam was going through. But Sam was a big boy; he’d deal with his losses in his own way and eventually heal, but that thought didn’t make Castiel feel any better.

“We’re ready.” Dean said to Tessa, taking charge.

“I’ve never brought an angel along with me before.” Tessa mused, a little smile dancing on her face.

“I’ve been to heaven before. I won’t be…lost in transit.” Castiel said. Modern phrases were still a little hard for him to understand or even know how to use properly.

Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel’s in an _it’ll all be alright_ sort of gesture. Dean smiled at the angel, feeling just as scared as Castiel was. Would heaven be different than last time? Would his heaven change at all? Would Castiel be able to follow him through his heaven? These things didn’t matter because for love, the both of them would take any risks.

Tessa walked over to the two and took Dean’s free hand, walking with them to an eerie, brilliant light. It seemed to radiate in all sorts of positivity. Love, happiness, these were the largest components in the lights composition.

It engulfed Dean and Castiel, taking the both of them and leaving Tessa behind to reap yet another soul.

Soon, all too soon, the lights warmth and glow disappeared, leaving Dean disoriented. Beneath his feet he felt rough and sturdy ground, like wood. He took a quick look around and saw the Roadhouse, bathed in its former glory.

At the bar sat Bobby, laughing and drinking with Ellen. Jo was striking up conversation with Ash, who was clacking away on a computer. Pamela sat by Bobby, taking shots of her own with Annie, and even John Winchester was there, who was leaning on a far wall talking up a storm with a lovely Mary Winchester.

“How… What? It was supposed to be my greatest hits! I thought it might be a different this time around but not this.” Dean said, at a loss for words. His head was reeling, overcome with a swirl of different emotions. Confusion, happiness, awe. It was all a rollercoaster in his head.

“It’s _supposed_ to be like that, comrade. But with a few simple algorithms I was able to attract anyone and everyone who every came in contact with the Roadhouse and its people, where it felt like family to them. That’s why your mamas here. You, Sam and your daddio were her family so therefore we’re all her family. I just want to know why the hell angel boy’s here.” Ash explained, pushing his computer away.

“I’m his escort. How do you know I’m an angel?” Castiel asked. He had never met this strange, wild haired man before.

“Talk of the town, you’d say. Bobby and Ellen told me about ya.” Ash explained, smiling from Dean to Castiel. “Yeah, that’s right. I know what’s going on between the two of you.” He added with a smile and turned back to his computer.

“Great, Bobby’s mouth is just as big in death.” Dean groaned. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m here with you and that’s all that’ll ever matter. This is heaven, baby. Let’s make use of it and do some catching up.” Dean said, implying a few different things with his choice of phrase.

This may not have been the heaven Castiel was expecting, the one with angels looking out for him, one where he’d go mad with shame. This was one unique and beautiful; it belonged to the hunter community. It was home.

 


	3. Heaven

                “How does this feel to you?” Castiel asked Dean.

                They were laying down on the hood of the Impala, the stars being their only source of light. Parked out in an empty park, they were trying to get away from the life for a day. So far, it was going well.

                “How does what feel?” Dean asked after taking a drink of his beer. He quickly looked at Cas, trying to search his face for a clue, and then back at the stars.

                “Us. How does our relationship feel to you? I’m curious.” Castiel asked. His hands were folded across his chest, which had an erratic heart pounding along.

                “Damn it. Do I have to answer this?” Dean asked with a groan.

                “No, but I’d like it if you did.” Cas replied after a second, deciding his question didn’t matter all that much but it’d still be nice to have an answer.

                “Fine, I’ll bite. Being with you feels… nice. I love you, Cas. You know that. It feels right and good and amazing. It’s like eating a cheeseburger for dinner and a nice cherry pie for dessert.” Dean explained, rather roughly.

                “I’m being compared to food?” Castiel asked, a little bewildered.

                “Yes. No, you’re better than food, I think. You’re definitely better than food.” Dean rambled, unable to make up his mind. He let out a short, nervous laugh and went back to thinking.

                “The ocean. You’re the ocean. Wild, chaotic, fueled with anger but also love. You’re beautiful, swift, and strong. You carry me underneath your wings like it’s nothing. You’re amazing, Cas.” Dean finally settled with, happy with the analogy.

 “What about you? How does this feel to you?” Dean asked.

“Oh, well if I had to say something I’d say this; if I was human and I had died I believe you’re the heaven I’d get.” Castiel explained.

“I’m your heaven?” Dean asked, a smile ghosting onto his face.

“Yes, you are. You’re everything I believe heaven should be, what I want my heaven to be. Warmth, love, openness. You’re heaven, Dean Winchester.” Castiel said, smiling to himself.

Dean felt himself smiling; a feeling grand and beautiful was swelling into his chest. He leaned toward Cas, taking the angel’s hand, squeezing it softly before leaning down to touch Castiel’s lips with his own.

Castiel was stunned at first, not expecting the kiss. But he thawed and worked his own lips against Dean’s softly. There was no rush, no force. It was just bliss. There was the silence of the night with the music of their hearts swelling in their heads. It was the force driving them together, begging them to take this kiss slow, to make it last as long as eternity.

Dean was smiling against Cas’s mouth, his rough lips still pressed to Castiel’s softer ones.

The two stayed like this for awhile, relishing in their slow, thoughtful kiss. It was like falling in love all over again.

 

 


	4. Carved

                _We are the ocean. Strong, swift, beautiful. We are the sun. Bright, burning, hot. We are the desert. Thirsty, timeless, dying. We are the moon. Lovely, lively, distant. We are love. Unending, utopian, forever._

These were the words etched into the counter at the bar, the texture fading dully. It looked like the scratches had been there for years. And in truth they had, for many, many years they lingered there. The hands that created them long gone, but the love they thrived from still burning bright, fueling the sun and stars.

                The forty five year old bartender still remembers when those words were carved deep into the counter. She was five years old at the time, her mother worked as a waitress then. She spent the afternoons here, coloring, reading and- as she got older- doing homework.

                All these days were insignificant, all except the day the words were carved. The bartender- Ari- was sitting at a table, drawing a rough, messy rainbow with her assortment of crayons. They were scattered all over the table, some falling to the floor in a colorful heap. Some fell onto the opposite seat and others, the majority, stayed in place on the table.

                It was roughly around seven o’clock, an hour and a half till her mother’s shift was over. Ari saw three men in a group come in, one dressed like a businessman in a trench coat and the other two looking like the bar’s regulars, regular drunks who cared less.  One of the two was tall- like a tree, Ari had thought at the time- and the other looked like he should have been on TV.

                They all took a seat at the bar, the two normal looking ones sharing a laugh and the other taking in the sight of the bar, which wasn’t much. It wasn’t in bad shape, it just looked worn and old.

                The three men ordered drinks, although Trench Coat man was looking at his drink like he’d never seen such a pure looking brand of liquor. They sat and drank for awhile, sharing laughs and jokes. Things got serious for a few minutes, but Movie Star man said something that broke that tense mood.

                After about an hour Tree left, waving off Movie Star man’s offers of a ride back to the motel. After that it was just Trench Coat and Movie Star, sitting at the bar, making doe eyes at each other.

                Even at such a young age Ari knew what love looked like. She had seen the same look in her parent’s eyes whenever they saw one another. It was beautiful, pure and all theirs. Ari didn’t care that both these people were men, she just knew that it didn’t matter who or what you were as long as you loved.

                Ari had set down her crayons, watching the two men and listening to their conversation. She didn’t try to cover up what she was doing; she was enthralled by the conversation between the two.

                “What am I?” Movie Star asked Trench Coat, giving off a broad smile.

                “The sun.” Trench Coat replied, after a moment of thought.

                “Why the sun?” Movie Star asked. He wasn’t complaining, just curious.

                “You’re bright, you seem to want as much attention as possible. You seem to fuel off of that, so you’re burning and hot. You’re always hot to the touch.” Trench Coat explains.

                They go at it like that for awhile, throwing words and explaining why they described each other as such. It was nice to see love in motion to Ari. It was a thing all its own.

                When there was only twenty minutes left to her mother’s shift, the men started to leave, but Movie Star stopped for a minute, looking down at the counter with a reminiscent smile.

                “We should leave our mark here.” He said, whipping out a small knife.  

                “That’s vandalism.” Trench Coat pointed out, not trying to coax him out of it just reminding him.

                “So? I’ll scratch in our word game.” Movie Star says, grinning. He takes a seat again and starts digging his blade into the dark wood of the counter. The bartenders don’t see anything and the other customers are either too drunk to realize what’s going on or they just don’t care.

                It takes him awhile, but he finally gets all the words carved into the bar. They’re rough and imperfect, but they’re there to stay.

                “Ready now?” Movie Star asks Trench Coat, proud of his work. Trench Coat merely nods, smiling, after glancing at the handiwork and they head out the door.

                Ari and her mother leave not long after, going to pick up her father from the garage on their way home.

 From then on, whenever Air saw love in any form, she was reminded of Trench Coat and Movie Star. They were hard to forget, not that she’d ever want to.

She took up a job at the bar when she got old enough so she could be close to those words, the act of love she herself witnessed. Just being near the carving made her feel warm inside.

Now, all these years later, the words are still there, although dramatically duller. They reside in the wood for all to see, although no one pays attention to it. Many times someone had wanted to replace the aging counter. It was still very useful, sturdy; it was just fading with time. All these times Ari saved the counter, using one way or another.

She never wanted to see the thing, the love engraved into every particle, go.

               


	5. All I'm Worth

                “Am I worth it?” Cas asked one afternoon. It wasn’t all that long ago that he told Dean he may just kill himself if he ever returned to heaven. That little conversation still hung on in the back of Dean’s mind, worry etching into his every thought.

                “Worth what?” Dean asked. He was cleaning the Impala, a long overdue task. Cas was leaning against the door of the motel room, arms crossed across his chest. He’d been acting a little weird lately.

                “All the grief I’ve put you and Sam through. I’ve done terrible things Dean, how can you look past that?” Cas asked, his brow wrinkled in disbelief. He had always considered himself quite lucky that he had someone like Dean in his long, tiresome life.

                “Oh God, one more Hallmark Moment to add to the list. Shit, I guess because life is too short to keep grudges. They drag you down and eat you up. They suck. Besides, how could I not forgive you? It’d make this relationship awkward.” Dean answered carefully, keeping his line of sight away from Cas’.

                “You humans are so strange. You have a different perception of things than angel do.” Cas replied, his eyes trying to find Deans.

                “What would an angel do then?” Dean asked.

                “They- we- keep grudges for a long time. We live long lives so it’s not all that difficult to do so. When you have the ability to live forever you have a long time to contemplate your hate and revenge.” Cas explained, rather ashamed.

                “But that doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t it be harder to keep grudges? You have to live forever knowing this asshole is still out there, alive and kicking and your still thinking about much you want them dead. Wouldn’t that start to change you? Wouldn’t you just want to forgive because of all the grief your own grudge is causing you?” Dean asked, setting his dirty rag in the bucket of soapy water and finally letting Cas catch his eye.

                “That is a unique way of looking at it. I suppose an angel’s mind is narrower that I earlier believed. You humans seem to have wider range of thought than most angels.”

                “Is that so? And they call _us_ simpler, unworthy. Angels sucks.” Dean muttered.

                “I’m sorry.” Cas immediately replied.

                “For what?” Dean asked, how brow crinkled.

                “For the misfortune I bring.”

                “Cas, you’re more human than the others nowadays. Sure, you got your mojo and all that but you’ve got humanity, something the rest of winged douche bags don’t have.” Dean explained. He grabbed his wet rag out of the bucket and began washing the car again, starting on the windows.

                “Thank you, Dean.” Cas said, smiling softly.

                “For what?” Dean asked. He hadn’t done anything special, not really.

                “Nothing in particular, just everything, I suppose.”

               


	6. Stone Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any indent inconsistencies, for some reason I'm not able to indent and it takes too long hitting the space bar 16 times.

                I’m stone. Just another perished angel laid to rest in a cemetery or other sad, barren location. That’s what we become when we die, stone angels. My time for resurrections is over, all my chances gone, run out. There’s no more time left for me, although I wished I had just stayed alive long enough for Dean to die. That way he wouldn’t have to be in pain, he’d be in his own corner of paradise. He’d be able to relive all of our best moments, all of his fondest memories. He’d be happy.

I haven’t told Dean about what I’d become after I die. I didn’t think I’d need to. I always thought I just might outlive him, although we die often enough to never know for sure which of us would go first.

I wish I at least got to tell him goodbye, I loved him and that I was just selfish enough to ask him to never move on. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being with someone other than me. I know how bad that sounds but he is what gave me my free will, gave me my first taste of real emotion and humanity. He’s the first and last person I’d ever truly loved.

I wish I could tell him I was still here. I know I can’t be awakened from my petrified form, but it’s still a nice thought. I’m not even aware where I am, although I know it’s the United States. The cemetery looks familiar enough, old and seems to have not been used in a long time. I know I’ve seen this place before but I just can’t get it out.

From where I am, I’ve got the view of an old, twisted tree, facing away from the small cemetery’s entrance. No one ever comes here, it’s always deserted, no one but the dead in their coffins. I hear birds though, sometimes. Their songs make the days seem better. They often sing of life, their daily routines. They don’t understand the pain of the human race, they ignore it. Ignorance really is bliss.

I’ve kept a tally of my days here, sixty four to be exact. Each day is slower than the next, all of them quiet. Nothing changes here. I’ve taken life for granted, taken heaven for granted also. I’m ashamed of my lack of appreciation. My father gave me life, a home, company and I haven’t even thanked him. He gave me everything I have and I haven’t said a damn word in thanks. I’m unworthy of being his son. I’m unworthy of the wings on my back. This lonely afterlife is a suitable punishment.

Maybe my last years of life were punishment. I was given freedom, love, and it was all ripped away over and over again till the game was done and I was laid to rest here, in desolation. If that is the case, I’m not angry with him. I’ve gotten what I deserve.

Today is a Sunday. It’s a beautiful, early summer morning. The plant life may be dying, but the sunrise is pristine and the songs of the birds seem to be even more brilliant than they were before. Something has changed today, something magnificent.

Later on in the day I hear the familiar rumble of a car coming near the gates. I’m filled with nostalgia, the car sounding so much like Dean’s beloved Impala I believed I’d be able to cry in that instant. Faint music spilled from speakers, a song that I believed to be titled Stairway to Heaven. It seems almost appropriate.

The song is sad, but beautiful. It’s a strange mixture of emotions.

The car stops abruptly, cutting off the song mid verse. I hear two car doors slam shut and the thud of boots on the ground.

“Son of a bitch. He was telling the truth.” A familiar voice said. It cracked, all sorts of emotion flowing through his words.

The thud of boots pounding across the ground became hurried and loud, racing closer and closer to my stone form.

“Dean, wait! It may not be him!” another voice, Sam, called to his brother. I almost couldn’t believe my ears, they were here. They found me.

“It wasn’t here last time! It’s either him or some other god damn angel.” Dean shouted back. He came into my field of vision, his face soaked in tears. He reached a hand tentatively up to my face, smiling at me though his glistening eyes.

“It’s him, Sammy. Trench coat and all.” Dean called, unwilling to tear his eyes from my face. He let out a warbled, choked laugh, smiling broadly.

Sam approached, looking bewildered and disbelieving. His mouth broke into a smile and he clamped a hand on Dean’s shoulder, gently squeezing it.

“Do your thing.” He told Dean, shoving him just a bit with a brotherly smile.

“Then go wait out in the car.” Dean demanded, leaving no room for argument. Sam rolled his eyes, but dragged himself off to the car. I heard the door slam closed, signaling Dean to turn back to me.

“Crowley told me, if you’re wondering. There was no price; his reasoning was just that he wanted a chance to kill you himself. I don’t know how he knew, maybe the angel he’d been torturing told him. I don’t know. I’m just glad I found you, Cas.” Dean explained, his eyes pricking with new tears. He wiped them away, leaving a wet blotch on his sleeve.

I could do nothing but watch.

“The ass hat also told me how to break you free. You know, not all angels go like this. Some go off into their own realm of paradise and other end up here if they believe they need to be punished. This is them living out their self proclaimed punishment. To be honest, I’m glad you went like this. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to bring you back.” Dean rambled, his fists clenching and unclenching. I could hear the up and down of his emotions in his voice, saw it in his movements.

He took a deep breath and took a step onto my base, becoming eye level with me. I wanted so much to touch him, to tell him so many things at that moment. But the moment was his.

He smiled to himself, and then leaned in close to press his warm, lively lips to my own cold, stony ones. The touch only lasted a second, but I felt warmth radiating out from my mouth and spread to my head, all the way down to my toes. I felt as if I were thawing, the icy, dead feeling my body had once possessed leaving. I felt the morning sun kiss my exposed skin as the stone faded away. I wriggled my fingers, relishing in the movement. I felt the soft breeze hit my face, tousle my hair. Never again would I take this life for granted.

I couldn’t find the words needed to express my thoughts in that moment. All I could do was smile and stare into Dean’s murky, thoughtful green eyes. He was smiling back, taking my chilled hand in his own rough one. He backed down onto the ground, taking me with him.

“How did you know where I was?” I asked. The task seemed long and impossible for someone as limited as a human being.

“Crowley said that whatever bone yard an angel ended up would have sort of significance to them. I didn’t quite trust the guy, but it was the only lead I had.” Dean explained, making no attempt to move.

“How long have you known?” I asked, looking into his eyes for some sort of answer that his voice wouldn’t convey.

“We found out about angel afterlife a few weeks ago. I was trying to break you out, but Crowley showed up last week and explained you were probably rotting in some cemetery because of all your guilt.” Dean said. He was scratching the back of his neck, smiling broadly. I don’t think any smile could rival his.

“Thank you, Dean.” I say, making no effort to move from my spot on the dead grass.

“Don’t mention it. Anyways, why wouldn’t I try to get you back? Do you hate yourself that much as to think I wouldn’t find a way to save your damn ass?” Dean asked his tone playful and serious all at once.

“I believe so, but I’ve taken my long life for granted. I won’t do that again, I’ll appreciate every moment I have.” I say, starting to move away from Dean and to the car, because I could. It felt nice to be able to walk, to feel, again. I heard Dean’s footsteps behind me, crunching the dead grass beneath his boots.

“You’re an idiot sometimes, you know that? We all make mistakes dumbass, stop beating yourself up for it.” Dean said, moving to climb into the driver seat of his beloved car.

I took a deep breath and climbed into the vacant passenger seat. Sam had taken one of the back ones. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t question him.

After Dean successfully pulled out of the beaten cemetery, he took my undamaged hand in his own, calloused, weathered one.

We drove for miles and miles, leaving Kansas as fast as we could. A few hours after we got out of Kansas, Sam and Dean began telling me of the things I missed, which wasn’t much. A few hunts, nothing more. The angels have been ‘lying low’, as Dean put it.

Late that night we arrived at a motel, one like all the others we came to rest at, and Dean and I made up for lost time well into the early hours of morning.

 


	7. The Darkest Hour

                Dean sat on the Impala’s glossy hood under stars in the motel parking lot, but all he saw was darkness, an overwhelming wave of it. It was all he could see, all he would ever see. There would be no more star gazing, no more watching Sam’s bitch faces. No more looking eagerly at a pie tin, not even looking briefly into Castiel’s jeweled eyes. It was all gone and he couldn’t do anything about it.

                He begged Castiel to fix him, to find a way, but all Castiel said was, “I can’t fix what isn’t there.” He left after that, going who the hell knows where. It felt like a sock in the stomach to Dean, hearing the pity in the other man’s voice. Dean felt so helpless, alone. It was a feeling he hated.

                “Friggin’ demons.” Dean muttered to the night, his voice tense and ice cold. The last thing he saw kept whipping trough his head, like a broken DVD player.

                He saw the demon’s fingers going for his eyes, greedy and terrifying. He whipped his face away, trying to get back when he saw Castiel, fighting off a demon bitch of his own. He saw the light bounce right off Castiel’s eyes, like lightening hitting the ice. Sharp, bloody, and tortuous pain in his eye sockets. He felt his eyes being ripped from his head, taking so much pain and blood with them. At the time it seemed like an act straight out of primitive warfare.

                All he had in those empty sockets now been two milky white marbles, terrifying and devilish to look at. Whenever Dean removed his shades, he could almost feel the shock and fear of those around him. It was nearly like he was a walking, talking dead guy.

                It could all be worse.

                Dean could be dead, deaf, paraplegic. Any number of things could be worse than being blind. Considering it all, Dean was damn lucky and he wasn’t going to complain.

                It’s been months since the attack. Dean’s gotten better navigating around, but he lost his baby, his ability to shoot a gun, and his life’s work. Dean didn’t know what to do with life now except stare off into space, sass off, and eat. It’s been a boring existence.

                Castiel hasn’t left Dean once, not while he can help it, at least. He lets Dean piss by himself and do a few other things but mostly Dean can feel the angels presence in the room. Dean’s been drifting away from Castiel, closed off a bit, but Castiel remains resilient, like stone.

                Dean’s ashamed of his weakness, the disability. He can barely speak to Castiel, let alone touch him in ways only Dean would be allowed to. It’s heartbreaking for both of them, but Castiel doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t complain, doesn’t try to coax Dean into talking. He leaves the ex Hunter to his own pitiful devices.

                Once, Dean asked Castiel why he never left. Why was he sticking around for a broken, although thankful, guy like him? Castiel could leave anytime and go anywhere, but he stuck around. Why?

                “You don’t deserve to be abandoned by anyone, Dean, let alone someone who loves you as much as I do.” Castiel had answered. They went back to their respectful silences after that.

                Dean leaned into the Impala’s windshield, back aching for sitting up straight this long. He rested his head, letting the soft spring air smooth over his face and through his hair. It was a nice feeling, the touch loving. But human contact was still better.

                Out of the silence of the night, Dean heard the tell tale flutter of wings. He nearly reached out to touch them before he realized he couldn’t really see them, even if he had eyes. They weren’t really there. They weren’t anywhere.

                “Hey, Cas.” Dean said nonchalantly, giving a little half smile.

                “Hello, Dean.” Castiel replied, rather awkwardly. He, too, was used to their long living silence. He missed Dean, all parts of him, his voice, his laugh, his touch, even his vivid green eyes.

                “How’s life?” Dean asked, trying to spark a conversation. He cared, he did, but it was hard to feel anything with Castiel this close, within touching distance.

                “You don’t want to know, Dean.” Castiel replied forlornly, his voice tired and sad.

                “Yeah, probably don’t. Halo patrol acting like dick bags again?” Dean asked out of blatant curiosity.

                “The angels are not the reason for my unease, Dean.” Castiel huffed. Dean could hear Castiel shift, the sound of the trench coat traveling along the night into his hears.

                “Oh, then uh, what is?” Dean asked, feeling a ‘moment’ creeping up.

                “You.” Castiel answered simply.

                “Me? How the hell am I to blame for your bad day?” Dean yelled, straightening up on the hood.

                “Not just my day, Dean. These past few months. You can barely talk to me, barely do anything these days and it just…sucks.” Castiel got out, his words strained and heavy with Castiel’s hidden pain.

                “Can’t blame a blind guy. Disability perks.” Dean said, thinking he was too clever.

                “I’m not throwing out blame; I’m giving you the answer to your question.”

                “Sure as hell sounds like blame.” Dean muttered, retreating back into his well developed shell.

                “Maybe it’s because you don’t know what pain sounds like.” Castiel muttered low enough for Dean to be unable to hear. Castiel had been getting better with his modern language skills. Sarcasm was doing him some good lately.

                “Did you say something?” Dean asked, his brow furrowed.

                “No, I didn’t.” Castiel replied, and then added, “Do you trust me, Dean?”

                “Uh, yeah. Of course I do. I’ve kinda had to trust you, man. I do sleep with you regularly after all. That needs a level of trust.” Dean pointed out, smirking despite the tense mood in the cool night.

                “Did.” Castiel corrected silently, blinking back a tear. He took a deep, shuddering breath and sat in the vacant space next to Dean, longing for the closeness.

                “So you do trust me, correct?” Castiel asked again, for clarification.

                “Yeah, Cas, I do.” Dean replied with a sigh.

                “Thank you.” Castiel said, smiling just a little.

                Dean woke up early the next morning on his creaky, motel room bed. He sat up slowly after a few minutes, cracking his eye lids open.

                When he did, a flood of light hit him squarely in the retinas, temporarily searing them. Dean blinked over and over, opening them again when the pain went away. Soon, the light faded out and he saw blurry shapes, slowly coming into focus.

                He saw the window across the room, the motel table sitting under it. He saw the comforter over him, the brown carpet flooring. He even saw Sam on the opposite bed.

                “Holy friggin’ shit.” He muttered, sitting in stunned silence. He leapt off the bed, unsure was to if he was dreaming or not. He knew one way to find out.

                He ran out of the motel room, slamming the door loudly behind him, and opened the trunk of the Impala, in search of a knife. He pulled a smaller one out and cut his forearm, waiting for the familiar sting and the rush of blood. 

                It came, it all friggin’ came. The wound bled, the ruby droplets splashing the asphalt and Dean’s bare foot.

                “Sam!” Dean shouted as he closed up the trunk and went back into the motel room.

                He went in to find Sam already up, probably startled awake the slamming door. He looked a little groggy, running a hand through his mane of hair.

                “Shit, Dean, did you get knew eyes?” Sam asked, staring at Dean in confusion and awe. There was awe in Sam’s hazel eyes.

                “What the hell? No, I didn’t get new eyes, well yea I did, just not fake ones.” Dean shouted back, a rush of adrenaline pumping in his system.

                “What do you mean?” Sam asked slowly, trying to make sense of Dean’s words.

                “I can see right now, Sammy. I see you and your confused as shit face, I see the brown tee shirt your wearing and I can the shitty brown carpet of this damn motel. I can fucking see!” Dean shouted, elation mixing with the adrenaline.

                Dean walked over and clasped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, grinning broadly.

                “You’re not kidding, are you?” Sam asked, his dark green eyes wide and disbelieving.

                “Yeah, I aint shitting ya.” Dean confirmed.

                “Then go check yourself out in the mirror, man.” Sam said cautiously, staring at Dean’s newly reformed eyes.

                Dean frowned, unclear of what Sam was saying, but he complied. He flicked the bathroom light on and looked in the mirror, checking out his face for what Sam was talking about. After a moment, something began to look wrong. His eyes were the wrong color.

                Instead of the green, flecked ones he used to see in the mirror every day, he saw blue ones. The same blue he saw right before he lost his sight, the very same. The ones that looked like salted fire reflected on ice. Castiel’s.

                “Son of a bitch!” Dean screamed. He wanted to tear these new eyes out and hand them back to Castiel, apologizing for being so stupid and selfish. He wanted to scream, beg Castiel to take the eyes back. Dean didn’t deserve them, wasn’t worthy of the gift he possessed.

                “Dean,  you okay?” Sam yelled as he ran into the bathroom.

                “Castiel gave me his mother-” Dean began as he abruptly heard the _whoosh_ of arriving wings.

                Dean ran out of the bathroom, prepared to start a fight over these damn eyes when he saw Castiel, bright blue eyes still resting in his head. But they looked different; they didn’t have the same light they normally had.

                “What the hell?” Dean asked, his voice barely a whisper.

                “These are only temporary, I assure you. Joshua gave me word that my own sight shall be restored. What good is a blind angel to anyone?” Castiel asked, a warm and loving smile lighting his face.

                “You gave me your eyes.” Dean bluntly said, as if it weren’t obvious.

                “Yes, I did. But like it was earlier said, my sight will be restored. A gift from God, I suppose. The other angels are furious over what I have done and persuaded Joshua to ‘slip’ the idea in the next time he spoke to God. I would have been happy being blind, but the other angels won’t have that.” Castiel replied softly, giving a smile to his beloved.

                Dean returned the smile, although unsure of what to say back. He decided on saying thank you then went outside to get a good look at the world again, stare at the diners across the street, look at the glossy finish of his worn out baby. Pretty much avoiding a lifetime movie moment

                Sam lingered inside with Castiel.

                “How much of that was the truth, Castiel?” he asked cautiously.

                Castiel smiled, knowing Sam at least would figure him out. Dean could, but he was blinded by his newly gained sight and pleasure.

                “Almost all of it, except the temporary situation regarding my eyes. I’ll be getting a new pair here soon that look more realistic. I’m not getting my sight back.” Castiel admitted, his voice laid back and content with his decision.

                “I thought so, but why’d you lie to him?” Sam asked.

                “If I told him the truth Dean’d just try to get me to take them back and if I refused, which I would have, he’d most likely gouge the eyes out. Besides, sometimes ignorance is bliss.” Castiel explained quickly, his hands stuffed in the wrinkled pockets of his trench coat.

                “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But what are you gonna do now? You can’t see.” Sam pointed out, as if it weren’t obvious enough.

                “I know Sam, but I don’t need to see. I know this Earth. I know all about its past, present and, future like I know the back of my hand, or even Dean’s. I don’t need the privilege of sight to guide me through the world.” Castiel said, smiling to ease the slight tension in the room.

                “God Cas, if Dean finds out-” Sam started before he was cut off.

                “He won’t find out. Maybe in a few years I’ll tell him, but now is not the time. I don’t want him slipping back into the broken shell of a man he had become. I don’t think I can handle that again. But, these eyes are my gift to him. He’s done far more than he should and I’m grateful.” Castiel explained, moving slowly throughout the room.

                “Okay, so neither of us will say anything to Dean, I'll try to keep cool. I just hope your a good actor.” Sam murmured as he went to step outside. Castiel followed him out shortly afterwards, Dean's effervescent smile greeting him.


End file.
